


Misguided Ghosts

by mysticmylifeisamess_enger



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Closure, Fluff, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmylifeisamess_enger/pseuds/mysticmylifeisamess_enger
Summary: Jihyun’s moving day and he still had one room left to pack.





	Misguided Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This authors note is going to be a little long and very sentimental, so you can either skip this or bear with me. When I started this piece was around the time my grandparent’s house was being sold. My grandpa passed away in late July and my grandma couldn’t live there alone, so she had to let go of the place they called home for over 20 years, their first piece of property since immigrating to the states. This was a place I went to every holiday, new years, easters, birthdays, weekends and even within the weekdays because I grew up very close to it. 
> 
> At first, my grandma offered the house to my mom to finally have some stability after years, and my mom considered it. Around October, I finally went there after months of avoiding it. I didn’t want to see it empty or renovated but the inevitable happened where I had to go and I took one look around and the first thing I said to my mom was “we can’t stay here.” It was a place that held so many memories, so much had happened there, and I knew that it was supposed to stay like that. 
> 
> This piece took me months to write and I didn’t want my hard work to be in vain so I’ve decided to post it.

The place Jihyun had called home for so many years had started to feel less like one the emptier it got–Boxes taking the place of end tables, picture frames, and decor that he carefully chose when first moving in. The walls that once hung paintings and photographs were now an empty stretch of white throughout, outlined by what was once there. His house became a hectic mess of bubble wrap, packing peanuts, and cardboard that he wasn’t sure he’d see the end of.

Though, as moving day came around, that mess seemed much more bearable than before. Maybe it was the thought of moving into the city or your gracious offer to help, but it lifted a weight off his shoulders nonetheless. The thought of living in a new environment, somewhere to start fresh, with the love of his life excited him. A place to breath new life into, to find his muse, and to make entirely his own.

It was, in every definition, a new beginning. His chance to start over and properly learn from his mistakes. He wanted to wake up early in the mornings; brew some coffee and have the scent waft through the house. To pour himself some and sit out on the porch as he watched the sun rise over the horizon. His thoughts would roam as he took in the crisp, cold air before his feet padded along the wood floors to his art studio. He’d want to sit and create for hours, letting his brush dance along the canvas, until your presence brought him out of his trance, giving you a ‘good morning’ kiss at noon.

He wanted that for the rest of his life, for years to come when you two start a family and grow old together. And he knew from the moment he came back that this wasn’t the right place for it.

At this point, every space had been emptied, as if no one was here to begin with. But he knew fully well that wasn’t the case as he found himself lingering in every doorway with an almost wistful look on his face, nostalgic waves at the thought of every memory that sat behind each wall. He could almost see what sat there before, recalling memory after memory that took place in each room. The more memories he looked back on, the more he realized that it should stay exactly like that: a memory.

It used to seem so perfect but coming back to it after two years felt different. What was once a place he had built to be away from the world, to be completely alone with his love and to focus on his photography work now became a monument to everything he wasn’t. He outgrew every aspect of this home and it showed in every small detail. The cracks and chips that decorated through the walls and creases told a story he wouldn’t want to relive. A story that shaped who he is, but was so close to breaking him entirely.

There still remained one room almost untouched. One that he knew full well he had to go in and pack up sooner or later, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Every time he was about to open that door and walk in to box everything up, something in him told him not to. His home office was a space he couldn’t stay in long since coming back, as it held an unnerving air. A place he once spent hours in became a vacant, uninhabited room. And inevitably, he had to go in and do what he’d avoided for over a month.

As he made his way to it, he felt the pit in his stomach tighten, as if he was nervous to see just what lies behind it. His hand gripped the door handle, taking in a deep breath as he turned it, opening to a room that was kept in the same shape he last left it in. A room that remained uncared for over two years, evident in the dust and cobwebs that sat on every surface.

Old cameras and prints scattered the desk haphazardly, as if someone was trying to uncover some sort of mystery. Large framed pictures hung on the wall–though they all seemed outdated–an image that no longer held any truth. The plants and cacti he carefully decorated throughout the room had either dried up and withered away or stood tall and unfazed by the negligence. He smiled to himself to see them stand the test of time, wondering just how they could have remained when its surroundings and conditions were so harsh.

Setting down the cardboard box in his hand, he quickly went to clearing the drawers, opening the top one of his desk to find all sorts of knick-knacks that got shoved in there. Unused sticky notes and pencils littered throughout; books he hadn’t opened in years, even before leaving.

And shoved right in the back was a shoebox.

There was no label on it, but he knew just what they were. Upon opening, he saw all the polaroids he expected to find. The smiles and laughs captured in them, the seemingly laid back vibe they had, and the common long, blonde hair that was all too familiar.

Though the one that stood out among the pile of memories was one that looked perfect at first glance. A picture of himself and his then-fiancé, smiling at the camera as they held up their ring fingers to show the promise of their commitment for one another. The physical evidence that they were made for one another. Or so he thought.

It was a portrayal of their highest point, the happiest moment in that relationship, but it didn’t show just how truly despondent he was. The longer he stared at it, the more hints of sorrow he could see on himself. The pained smile that was wider than ever, but completely forced. The eyes that always had a spark of joy in them seem to have dwindled down to nothing.

For the longest time, he thought that was love. He thought that that’s exactly what he deserved, what he needed to go through in order to find the peace within it.

Putting down the photo, he felt a shiver down his spine from the chilling aura this box contained. He sat it atop the desk as he continued to rummage through the drawer, not yet set on keeping it or not. His attention went back to what was in front of him, the scattered mess that made him wonder if past Jihyun just dumped everything in here. He could only hope to be more organized in his new place.

Taking out a few more things, he found a small pile of cards that sat right at the bottom. The design that showed was all too familiar, a simple black print made to look like the aperture of a camera contrasting the white background. A simple logo he designed when starting his career.

He picked one up out of the pile, turning it over to see his old contact information and minimalist design. Along with it, a name and occupation he hadn’t even thought about in a while.

‘V, photographer.’

A name, a simple letter, that he hid behind for years like a mask that didn’t quite fit. It was his way of separating his identity of ‘Jihyun,’ cutting ties with his past to pursue photography under the guise of ‘V.’

Looking at the card, he could almost recall every time he spent hours editing just one picture to perfect it, only to move onto the next photo with the same intent. He never truly realized how to love his work until it was a brush in his hand instead of a lens.

He put the cards down along with the polaroids, continuing on to rummage through the next drawer. Upon opening, he only saw one thing that sat right in there. An old pair of dark-tinted glasses that he hadn’t used since he had surgery.

The lenses were covered in dust, wiping them off as he examined them. To him, this was a reminder of a time he refused to get better. When he let his self-loathing get the best of him and disregarded his own health in the process. He set them down with the rest, looking over the pile one more time with a thoughtful look.

Everything that sat there was the evidence of his growth, but he couldn’t help but feel nauseous at the sight. It was a showcase of every way he was different now, every step of his journey to self recovery led him to look at this differently.

It was as if another person had worked here, someone whose self-doubt and insecurities were reflected in every corner of the room. Someone who tried so hard to paint this perfect image, that strived to be an artist but never let themselves get there. The ache in his heart only seemed to get heavier at the thought that this person, who once was himself, now haunts this room. They cling onto every piece, hoping and praying that things will go back to the way they were. Someone who desperately tried to make it all right on their own, stubbornly carrying the burdens of others on their shoulders until it crushed them underneath.

Jihyun was so lost in these thoughts that he didn’t notice the cautious steps approaching him from behind. Inching closer, you could see how stiff his shoulders were, knowing that his face had to be holding those same taut lines. His tense demeanor thick in the air, feeling it cut through you as you crossed the room.

You placed your hands gently on his shoulders, feeling him relax under your touch as they ran down his back. Before he could turn around, you pressed flush against him as your arms wrapped around his middle, holding him tight as your head buried in the middle of his back. His own hands found yours, dragging them up to meet his lips as he pressed a few short kisses to them.

For once, the silence in the room felt comfortable. This gentle reminder brought him back to his current reality–the one that had a bright future ahead and let him know he wasn’t alone this time. Everything that sat in front of him no longer had any ties to what he was currently feeling. The smile on his face widened at the way your fingers toyed with his own, playing with the band on his left hand for a short second before they went back to holding him close.

“Your box is empty, is everything alright?” you asked, head coming around to lean against his arm and look up at him.

“I’m fine,” he said with a small chuckle, eyes meeting your own, “I’m just having a harder time cleaning this than I thought.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I guess it’s just harder to accept what I’ve been denying myself for years. All those times I could have changed, but it took years before I would allow myself that.” He paused, taking in a deep breath before gazing back down at the desk, “I just wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you again, only glancing from the side to see your face in deep thought before you spoke again.

“But it’s not like that anymore. You can look forward to the rest of your life and allow yourself that happiness you were seeking, and I’ll be here to help with that.” You smiled, coming around to face him, “You’re no longer alone on this journey, okay?”

A fond smile graced his face, leaning forward to press his lips to your temple in silent reassurance. Hearing it said out loud, vocalized by you, solidified his gut feeling that he was doing the right thing. And he knew just what to do now.

“All of this,” you motioned to the mess on his desk, “is in your past. And you can choose to let it have a hold on you, or learn to grow from it.”

His eyes followed the movement of your hands, landing back on the work before him with an intense gaze. You noticed the pensive look on his face, pushing yourself off the desk as you placed a quick peck on his cheek.

“I’ll let you finish up in here,” you said, turning on your heel towards the door, “In the meantime, do you want me to make you some tea?”

“You still haven’t packed the kitchen? The moving truck will be here any minute,” he said in mock exasperation, following it with a small chuckle.

“Says the one who is barely one drawer into their office,” you mused as you made your way down the hall, leaving Jihyun alone once again.

He could feel his shoulders release, as if you took whatever strain was on him and out of the room with you. The breath of fresh air and clarity was more than he could have asked for, looking to the pile once more before picking everything up. Holding it all felt heavier than it looked, though he knew not for physical reasons.

He turned to look at the empty box behind him, thinking for a second before he walked over to the trash bin beside his desk and all at once, dropping everything in. All the polaroids, cards and glasses he held onto for years and he simply let them go.

They no longer had a hold on him, no true ties to who he is now. He could now leave his past where it belonged. And with that, he felt the ghost in the room disappear, as if it finally found peace and could move on.


End file.
